


Casting Couch

by Farasha



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Porn, Begging, Comeplay, Exhibitionism, Light Bondage, M/M, Nipple Play, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farasha/pseuds/Farasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan, down on his luck, kicked out of seminary school, and trying to face homelessness with dignity, gets picked up at a bar by Ragnar Lothbrok, principle adult film star at his wife's studio. Ragnar leaves Athelstan with his card and a choice - try to survive in Los Angeles with no income and no place to live, or give Lost Brook Studios a try.</p><p>This fic is entirely the fault of Travis "I can't keep my hands off George Blagden for five minutes" Fimmel, most specifically in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iPsRG0-RQSg&list=FLx9cQMQAPn_wqjuaMNMI69A&index=1">this interview</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casting Couch

**Author's Note:**

> This fic may shade toward dubcon or abuse of power for some. Athelstan is homeless, and therefore in a vulnerable position. He needs the work Lagertha is offering and feels like he doesn't have many other options. However, Lagertha is careful to make sure Athelstan understands what his options are and that he consents before hiring him. Therefore, I have not tagged this fic dubcon.

Athelstan tugs the hem of his shirt down - it's plenty long enough, but somehow he feels uncovered in only a T-shirt and jeans. An unintimidating glass door with the studio's logo on it stands between him and something he wouldn't have contemplated only a week ago.

Then again, a week ago he'd been in seminary and everything had been _just fine_. That is, until he got into a screaming argument with the head bishop, accidentally outed himself, and got summarily tossed out of seminary with a dire warning to 'straighten himself out or face the consequences.' The consequences apparently being excommunication and a complete severance of all the friendships he'd previously held in the Church.

Deep in his heart he knows that isn't what the religion is supposed to be about, but he's only one man, and he alone can't challenge the Catholic diocese no matter how strongly he feels they strayed. He'd been there on scholarship, which meant he'd also lost his student housing, his meal plan, and his work-study. Which left him homeless, penniless, and desperate.

If it were any other job, in any other industry, he might have said that finding the Lothbroks was a blessing. As it was, despite the fact that he doesn't plan to go anywhere within arm's length of a confessional ever again, he dreads what the man on the other side of the partition might tell him about his newfound career options.

He thinks - he hopes - that God will understand.

He'd met Ragnar Lothbrok entirely by chance. He wasn't usually the kind to drown his sorrows, but after finally being evicted from the motel room he'd been renting with his meager savings, Athelstan hadn't seen any other way to keep from feeling like a failure than to spend the last dregs of his wallet on getting thoroughly drunk. He had picked a gay bar on purpose - he was slight, and small, and soft-spoken. It meant he was an easy target, and out of the two available possibilities, getting hit on was better than getting his teeth kicked in.

Ragnar slid onto the barstool next to Athelstan when he was on his fourth margarita, feeling considerably drunker than he thought he would be before midnight. Ragnar pressed up against Athelstan like he belonged there, too close but breathtaking with it instead of frightening. Athelstan's attention was arrested immediately by a pair of dancing blue eyes, a teasing smirk, and a casual hand on his thigh - Ragnar hadn't known the meaning of personal space from the very beginning.

"You look like you're having a bad day," he said, a lilt in his voice that Athelstan could barely hear over the music - and only because his breath washed hot over Athelstan's ear.

Athelstan shivered, turned on his barstool put his back against the bar. He had a better impression of the man, now - he saw wild blonde hair braided back messily above where it was shaved high on the temples, a beard framing a full mouth, and a spark in those blue eyes that made him look predatory and curious at the same time. Athelstan's pulse tripped louder in his ears, drowning out the pounding bass notes. "Bad week. Bad two weeks. You're very forward."

That only made him grin and track his eyes over Athelstan, giving him a slow, blatant once-over that made Athelstan swallow. "What's the use of pretending you don't want something when you do?"

Athelstan knew he was staring, knew that his mouth was open and his lips were parted like an invitation, but it still caught him by surprise when he was crowded up against the bar and kissed like there was no question it was supposed to happen. When they parted, Athelstan gasped huge lungfuls of air and realized he had both hands tangled in the man's shirt. "You didn't even ask for my name first."

"What is it?" Those blue eyes crinkled at the corners, regarding him with sharp amusement.

"Athelstan."

"Ragnar. Now we know each other. Would you like to get to know each other better?" 

It got very confusing after that. All the alcohol seemed to hit Athelstan at once. He remembered the rest of the night in flashes - Ragnar holding him tight against the firm support of his chest, Ragnar steering him into the back of a cab, Ragnar's lips on his, hot and smooth. There was a bed, and strong arms wrapped around him, and then nothing.

Athelstan woke up with all his clothes on, which was the only reason why he spent a good twenty minutes of quality time hyperventilating with his head between his knees instead of running back to seminary and begging for forgiveness. He remembered coming here with Ragnar, remembered Ragnar's weight on top of him and their mouths pressed together. His head pounded. He got his breathing under control and picked his head up, the heels of his hands pressed to his temples.

There was a piece of paper folded neatly on the bedstand, one corner tucked under the alarm clock. Athelstan stared at it for a full minute, watching the time tick over on the clock, before he carefully unfolded it.

_Athelstan-_

_I hope you slept well. You kiss like you want to be devoured. I think I may be able to help you with your bad couple of weeks. Call me._

_-Ragnar_

Athelstan discovered then that blushing with a hangover only made his head pound worse. Tucked into the note was a business card - it was black, with _Lost Brook Studios_ emblazoned in silver script on the front. Below the studio name was a phone number, an address, and _Ragnar Lothbrok - Principle_.

Athelstan had rinsed the foul taste out of his mouth and spent some quality time staring at himself in the hotel mirror, wondering how he could screw up everything so badly, even falling into iniquitous sin. Still, it was the first full night's sleep he'd had since he left the seminary, and Ragnar hadn't... taken advantage of him.

_You kiss like you want to be devoured._

Athelstan yanked his cleanest change of clothes out of the bottom of his backpack, sending a silent prayer of thanks that he'd been sober enough to remember to keep it with him, and slipped out of the hotel through the back.

His laptop hadn't been property of the seminary, not the way most of his uniform clothing and all of his furniture had been. He could still slip into a Starbucks, slouch in a corner, and go unnoticed for an hour or two before someone asked him to order or get out. He didn't know who Ragnar was, but he was at least well off enough to pay for a hotel room for the night in a not-shitty part of town.

A quick search for the company name on the business card had Athelstan flushing dark red from his hairline to his collar. Lost Brook Studios, run by the renowned and redoubtable Lagertha Lothbrok, was one of the premiere adult entertainment studios in the Los Angeles area, specializing in "passionate visual erotica."

Ragnar had given Athelstan his card because he wanted Athelstan to be a _porn star_.

Not just any porn star, either. After swallowing his embarrassment, Athelstan had made the window as small as he could on his tiny, battered laptop and rapidly clicked through the site. It wasn't like the porn Athelstan remembered from high school, where the women looked more like they were demonstrating and contorting into odd positions than enjoying themselves. There was no sound on the laptop, but the way the performers held each other close, the way the camera focused in on their faces, on the slow drag of lips and skin together instead of close up shots of pistoning hips, made Athelstan feel like there was something more than just performance there. Something intimate. Something he could maybe be a part of.

Ragnar was Lagertha's top performer. Athelstan was hard pressed to find a scene without Ragnar in it, and it didn't seem to matter who was in the scene with him - men, women, Ragnar didn't seem picky - the intensity of his focus on them didn't waver. Athelstan flushed harder, pressing a hand to his burning forehead, his mind suddenly flooded with a rush of images from the night before - Ragnar's mouth on his neck, Ragnar's hands around his wrists, Ragnar rolling his hips against Athelstan, all while Athelstan arched into it with his head thrown back, baring his throat.

He had shut the laptop quickly, glancing around the coffee shop with a guilty air, and hurried out before he could embarrass himself. He was turned on and ashamed of it and he felt more than a little pathetic, now that his logical brain was reasserting itself. He'd met Ragnar at a bar. Ragnar had taken him back to a hotel. Ragnar didn't know anything about him and Athelstan didn't know a thing about Ragnar.

_Except how he kisses, what he looks like naked, how he likes to twist his fingers in someone's hair and look them in the eye when he gets them off._

Athelstan scrubbed a hand over his mouth. If his situation hadn't been dire, he probably wouldn't consider it, but he hadn't had a proper night's sleep in a week because he had to keep moving to avoid getting arrested. He smelled, his hair itched, and the entirety of his worldly possessions fit into a backpack. He couldn't keep living like this. Which was what had him searching around for what seemed like one of the last remaining pay phones in all of LA, scrounging the last of his change from the bottom of his backpack, and calling the number on the business card.

"Lost Brook Studios, how may I direct your call?"

"Uhm." Athelstan clutched the business card like a lifeline. "My name is Athelstan. I met Ragnar Lothbrok last night and he gave me his card - I think he meant for me to call, but honestly it's kind of hazy and - I'm sorry. You probably don't care. Is Ragnar available?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lothbrok is on set at the moment. Would you like me to forward your call to Mrs. Lothbrok instead? It sounds like you need to schedule an interview." The voice on the other end of the line was professional, but there was a kindness to it that eased some of the tight nervousness in Athelstan's chest.

"I - yes. Thank you, I think that would be the best idea."

He didn't wait on hold for long, but this time when the phone picked up there was more... noise in the background. A long, drawn out, wavering moan broke into a sharp cry, and then a voice said, "Lagertha speaking. Who is this?"

"I'm. Um. I'm Athelstan, I met-"

"You're the one my husband came home grinning about early this morning," she said. Athelstan's throat locked up tight. Was Ragnar married? Was that why they called her Mrs.? "He's taken with you. Wouldn't shut up about you - and how cute you are when you sleep."

Athelstan felt like he might swallow his tongue. "I," he managed.

Lagertha laughed on the other end of the line. "Oh, you sound _precious_. No wonder he wanted you to call him. Don't choke, I'm not the jealous type."

Obviously. Obviously she wasn't the jealous type, if she ran the studio and Ragnar was in practically all of her films. "Oh." Athelstan felt very small, very out of his depth, and very much like he might be making a mistake. "He said... he said he might be able to help with the bad couple of weeks I've been having."

The line went quiet for a moment. "He said that?"

"He left a note."

Lagertha hummed like she was considering. "He must be more taken with you than I thought. Do you want to come in for an interview? Ragnar has a good eye for talent."

Athelstan hesitated for a very long moment. "I don't really have anything interview appropriate."

"We're a casual office," Lagertha said dryly. "If you're hired, you won't have your clothes on much. So?"

The little gold cross dangling around his neck seemed to burn through his shirt like a brand - but he needed to eat. "Yes. Thank you."

She gave him an address, told him to get tested and bring the results (which made Athelstan turn beet red and stammer an acceptance), arranged for them to interview in five days, and finished with, "I look forward to meeting you in person."

She sounded almost as predatory as Ragnar. Athelstan wondered if he hadn't made a mistake after all.

Which now brought him here, to the unassuming glass doors of Lost Brook Studios, the business card still clutched in his hand. His face and hair were damp - he'd scrubbed off in a water fountain hurriedly, trying to get the worst of the greasy look out of his curls. Five more days of vagrancy on the streets of LA hadn't improved his look. He'd resorted to lingering around drive-thrus and fishing in the bottoms of vending machines for loose change, and had taken his clothes to the cheapest laundromat he could find. They're clean, at least, even if he's only nominally so.

It stings. Athelstan has been poor before, when his parents succumbed one after another to cancer after lives spent with too much drink and too many substances, but he's never been so poor he had to choose between looking clean for an interview and eating. His stomach gurgles loudly and he swallows, silently telling it to quiet down.

This was just a stopgap. A waystation. He would find something else, something... not this. But for now, there was this. He slips through the door, trying not to seem like he doesn't want anyone looking at him, even if it is the truth.

The reception area of the studio is cozy but professional - the walls are painted a warm brown up to the chair rail, shading into cream above that. There's art on the walls, tasteful partial nudes and a couple of classics, but nothing racier than bared breasts. The furniture is all rounded lines, plush couches and dark wood tables.

There's a woman sitting behind the desk when he comes in. She looks up at him with a warm smile. "Can I help you?"

It's the same voice that had answered when Athelstan called a little less than a week ago. "We spoke on the phone," he says quietly, crossing the room to extend his hand only because it's polite. He feels more like vanishing through the floor. "Athelstan."

"Siggy," she says. Her handshake is firm and somehow welcoming, serving to put Athelstan somewhat at ease. Her full mouth quirks up on one side. "You have the interview with Lagertha today."

"I know I'm early, and I'm sorry about the clothes - I told her I didn't really have anything interview appropriate-"

"Don't worry about it. She doesn't bite unless you want her to. Did you bring your test results?"

Athelstan can feel the blush creeping up his face, but he pulls the battered envelope out of his back pocket and hands it over. If Siggy thinks anything of his appearance - threadbare T-shirt and worn jeans, his backpack slung over one shoulder, ratty sneakers - she doesn't say anything.

"If you'll have a seat, Lagertha will be with you shortly." Siggy smiles at him, a true smile this time. "You don't have to be nervous. If Ragnar took a shine to you like she says he did, you're pretty much a shoe-in."

Athelstan doesn't bother saying that's what he's afraid of. He tries to return her smile the best he can and sits gingerly on the edge of one of the couches. It's softer than he expected, and before he knows it he's relaxing into it. It's been hard to find a safe place to be comfortable on the street, and Athelstan hasn't slept well since that night Ragnar left him in the hotel room. Despite that, he feels jittery, like he's had too much coffee. His stomach growls again and he puts it out of his mind, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt while he waits for Lagertha.

Mercifully, he doesn't have to wait long. The door at the other end of the foyer opens and a blonde woman strides through it, her heels clicking against the floor. Her gaze falls on Athelstan immediately - it's nearly the same piercing blue as Ragnar's, only more calculating and less amused. "Athelstan?"

"Yeah, um." Athelstan stands like he's been sitting on a spring, crossing the room quickly and taking the hand she offers. "You must be Mrs. Lothbrok."

"Lagertha." The correction isn't unkind, but Athelstan knows immediately that he won't make that mistake again. Lagertha isn't the type of woman you cross. "Follow me."

Athelstan has just enough time to see Siggy wink at him and give a little wave of her fingers before he vanishes through the door and into the studio proper.

Lost Brook Studio, which Athelstan has gathered by now was a play on Ragnar and Lagertha's last name, apparently doesn't believe in open sets. The hallway he walks down is warmly lit, not bright and clinical or dim and foreboding. As he passes doorways, he can hear sounds from within - moans, the slap of skin on skin, the occasional voice crying out unintelligible words. It fuels Athelstan's blush, which he's fairly sure will be permanent here. Lagertha leads him on without stopping, through a frosted glass door at the very end of the hall into her office.

"Have a seat." Lagertha rounds her desk and settles into her own chair on the other side, high-backed dark leather. The chair Athelstan perches on rather nervously is dwarfed by comparison. He thinks she must have done that on purpose, to give herself the position of power in the room. Not that she needs it - Lagertha exudes power from the tilt of her chin to the straight set of her shoulders to the crisp lines of her suit. "I understand Ragnar tried to seduce you before giving you his card."

There's that blush again, full force this time. Athelstan knows he is pink from his forehead to his neck and ducks his head, curls falling into his eyes. "I wouldn't say 'tried.' He would have succeeded if I hadn't had too much to drink."

When he looks up at Lagertha through the fringe of his hair, the calculating look has returned. "It's not the way I prefer to recruit employees. What kind of experience do you have?"

Athelstan has to swallow twice before he could answer. "On camera or off?"

"Let's start with off camera. Siggy has your test results and will be verifying those with the clinic. How do you identify?"

"Um. I'm gay." It isn't the first time he's come out, but it's nerve-wracking all the same. What if it's a problem? What if he gets turned down because he isn't interested in women?

Lagertha only makes a note on a pad of paper nearby. "How many sexual partners have you had?"

"Is that relevant?" Athelstan can't stop himself from asking. "I mean - if you're trying to ask if I'm a virgin, I'm not. It's just... I don't..." he fidgets and trails off, unsure of how to phrase what he means to say next. His stomach interrupts him with a loud gurgle.

Some of the calculating look in Lagertha's gaze softens. She opens a desk drawer and pulls out a protein bar, offering it across the desk. Athelstan's fingers close around it with a soft murmur of thanks. He tries not to look ravenous as he rips open the wrapper and bites into it, but hunger gets the better of him, and it's gone in short order.

In the meantime, Lagertha watches him. Her eyes travel over him, much the same way Ragnar's had, but with something else in their depths. "You said you didn't have anything interview appropriate. You didn't say you were hungry. Where have you been staying?"

Athelstan swallows, the protein bar sitting like a lump in his stomach. "I'm not - nowhere. I'm kind of homeless right now." He looks down at his hands, twisting the hem of his shirt, and hunches his shoulders.

There's a rustle of fabric, and Lagertha's hand settles on his bicep. He looks up to find her leaning over her desk, her eyebrows knit together. "Ragnar didn't tell me."

"I didn't tell Ragnar. I didn't want... to seem desperate."

"But you are." It isn't unkind, but it makes Athelstan flinch anyway.

"Yeah, I guess so." He tries on a self-deprecating smile. "No offense, but you're kind of my last option."

Lagertha squeezes his bicep. "Athelstan, I want you to be honest with me. Did Ragnar try to coerce you into calling me?"

"No!" It bursts out before Athelstan is truly conscious of the answer, and he isn't sure where the swell of indignation comes from - he barely knows Ragnar, after all, and the one time he's seen the man they had been too interested in getting each other naked to have much conversation. "I don't mean that. Look, this wasn't my first choice but... I did... check out some of your work." The blush is back. "It's not what I'm used to seeing. It's... better. Intimate." The smile he gives her this time feels more real. "I could use some intimacy in my life, I think."

Lagertha releases him, sitting back in her chair again. There's less calculation and more warmth in her face this time. "I try to match performers who have a connection. I want to make work that shows genuine human emotion, not tawdry titillation. Sex is a profound connection, and I want to highlight that in the work that I do. Is that what you found interesting?"

"It's kind of unique in your industry." Athelstan shrugs. "I'll be honest, I'm not much of a porn watching person. But this... what you do here..." he waves around at the walls. In her own office, the art on the walls is mostly charcoal figure drawings, nude studies that focus on the reality of the human form. "You don't cheapen it. Does that make sense?"

Lagertha smiles at him, a real smile that makes something in her eyes light up. She looks less forbidding now. "It does - and I'm glad to hear you say it. Ragnar has a bad habit of not thinking about how he affects people. I know how overwhelming he can be."

Athelstan lets out a startled bark of laughter. "Overwhelming is a good word for it."

There's a long moment when Lagertha doesn't speak again, watching him in silence as she runs her fingertips across the tabletop. Athelstan feels like he can sense her hesitation, if only because it fits so badly on her. "You said, 'A bad couple of weeks.' Where were you before that?"

He laces his fingers together and lets out a long breath. "Seminary."

"You're a priest?" Both of Lagertha's eyebrows raise, and Athelstan is almost satisfied to have startled her with something.

"I was learning to be. I'm not ordained, but I have a Bachelors of Theology." 

"It doesn't bother you, what we do here? Sex outside of wedlock. Sodomy. Ragnar is my husband, and he is the principle in most of my work."

He meets the skepticism in her eyes squarely. "The Church isn't God. They're just men. What they think about things like what I am, what you do..." he shakes his head. "I don't think they matter as much as it's made out to."

"You talk about it so easily. Did they throw you out?"

Athelstan squirms. "I had words with the bishop."

"Unkind words."

"Arrogant, sinful words, according to them." Athelstan shrugs one shoulder. "I can't go back there anyway. I'm not interested in what they think of me."

It isn't entirely true. The disgust he'd seen when he left campus, when he packed up the things that were his and left student housing, was palpable and nauseating. Maybe that, as much as the rest of it, was what had made him call Lagertha. On film, Ragnar was so easy in himself. The owner of his own skin. Athelstan wants to know what that feels like.

Lagertha leans back in her chair, and something in her manner eases. "I think it's about time we talk about practicalities. You're hired, provided your tests check out. I would want you to perform with Ragnar, at first - if you're still as comfortable with that sober as you were drunk."

Athelstan's blush comes flaming back, thinking of those half-remembered sensations of their mouths sliding together, Ragnar's hands framing his hips, his weight bearing Athelstan down into the mattress. "I would like that."

"I thought you would," Lagertha says. Her smirk is wicked and seductive, just like Ragnar's. He can see why they'd ended up together - they're like a mirror of each other. "I hope that blush doesn't go away. You're going to make us a mint."

It makes him laugh and shake his head, smiling wryly at her. "I don't think you have to worry. I'm not... used to this."

"Which is 'this?' Talking about sex, being surrounded by other people having sex, or being put on display for a camera?" Lagertha knows what she's doing to him, he can tell. He isn't attracted to her the way he is to Ragnar, but the things she says - the way she had talked about him just then like he's a delightful new toy to be played with - is almost as arousing as being manhandled by her husband.

"Any. All of the above. How many people are in the room when you shoot?" The question comes out before he really thinks about it, but Athelstan doesn't think he can bear having too many eyes on him. Not at first.

Lagertha seems to understand. "I can't operate all the cameras at the same time, but I can do at least one - that will cut down on the number. You, Ragnar, sound and lights - I can manage two operators there. Me. One other camera. I don't operate open sets."

"I saw." Athelstan still feels dizzy, a little faint. Five people, including Ragnar. He can... he can do that. He thinks. "How do you pay?"

"It took you this long to ask that," Lagertha says, eyes twinkling. "I expected that question first."

"It's not polite to lead with."

Lagertha hums, grinning like a cat, and rests her chin on her hand, her eyes going half-lidded in consideration. Athelstan feels naked under her gaze. He figures that's appropriate, since he soon will be. "Ragnar is going to make such a mess of you."

There's nothing Athelstan can do with that besides trip over his tongue trying to figure out how to respond. She laughs at his wide-eyed expression and gives him a dollar amount. The figure makes something loosen in Athelstan's chest, and he finds he can't be ashamed of that. It's enough. More than enough. It'll keep him comfortable and allow him to put away a savings.

The rest of the conversation goes in much the same way. Lagertha steers him from one question to the next, keeping him off-balance, getting him to answer out of surprise more than anything else. She asks him about his experiences, the things that he's found out he liked with previous partners, what he's comfortable trying on camera and what he'd prefer to leave off set.

"I won't make you do anything you aren't comfortable with," Lagertha says, and Athelstan smiles. He had already figured that out about her. "You set your own boundaries, here. If you ever need to stop in the middle of a shoot, you'll never be penalized for it."

Athelstan nods, believing her utterly. For some inexplicable reason, despite her business and the short time in which he's known her, he feels like he can trust her. Just as he'd felt he could trust Ragnar enough to let him take him out of that bar.

"How soon would you like to film? The sooner it is, the quicker I can pay you. I would give you an advance, but..." Lagertha shrugs. "My maternal instincts have their limits."

"I wouldn't ask," Athelstan says quietly. "But... as far as how soon..." he trails off. He can't go too much longer without a place to stay and decent meals, but it feels shameless. "Today?"

Lagertha holds his eyes for another stretch of interminable seconds. "You know, you can sleep with my husband without filming it. You don't have to do this if he's what you want."

"He's part of what I want." Athelstan props his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. "I also need to eat. A place to sleep. Better clothes. I don't want to ask for your charity." He looks her in the eye, despite how much his cheeks burn. "I don't really understand why, but I think I can trust you. You know what they say - God works in mysterious ways."

"Somehow, I don't think this is what they had in mind." Lagertha is smiling at him, though. A real smile. "If you're sure, I'll give you one of our standard performer contracts and send you to makeup - you can read it while I check in with Siggy, and Ragnar and I will decide which set we'll use." She taps her long fingers on her lips, staring at Athelstan like someone might stare at a prized vase to figure out where it fit in the room. "We'll go slow. Have you and Ragnar get to know each other on camera." She lets out a small snort. "I didn't think I'd ever think 'casting couch' was the way to go for a setup, as tired as it is, but... it can work."

Athelstan only has a vague idea of what she means, but it's enough to give him the image of Ragnar pinning Athelstan back against the arm of a couch, one broad hand spread across his chest and the other gripping Athelstan's wrists.

"Did I lose you for a minute?" Lagertha asks, sounding amused. Athelstan shakes himself to find her holding a document out to him - the contract. "Before you go to makeup, I'll show you to the showers. You look like you could use one."

He probably should have been embarrassed, but Athelstan is only relieved. "Thank you."

The shower is heaven. Athelstan stands under the spray for what seems like an hour, scrubbing himself down with the scented bodywash and shampoo - it smells minty and cold, like juniper, and it leaves his scalp tingling. When the water finally goes cold and he wraps himself up in a plush towel with a long, pleased sigh, he decides that this might be worth it for the shower alone. He feels better than he had in days. It's almost a shame to get back into his mostly-clean clothes.

Makeup turned out to be just down the hall. Helga, who wears black nail polish and so much eyeliner Athelstan wonders how she blinks without her eyes getting stuck together, looks him over and declares his eyelashes are unfair. "I mean. Look at you! Your complexion is even perfect. I think I might be jealous."

"He won't be stealing Floki away from you any time soon."

Athelstan's pulse thuds so hard in his throat he thinks he might choke on it, and he twists in the chair to stare at the doorway. Ragnar leans against its frame, head tilted and mouth quirked just as it had been in the bar, looking like he wants to peel all of Athelstan's clothes off.

He'll very shortly get the opportunity to do so. Athelstan tries to get his heavy tongue to cooperate in making words, but after a few breaths, all he manages to spit out is, "Hi."

Ragnar grins and shoves off the doorframe, approaching him at a slow prowl. "Hello, priest."

Athelstan groans, rubbing his hands over his face. "I told you that?"

"You might have mentioned it." Ragnar lounges against the counter next to the makeup chair. Once again, personal space doesn't seem to mean anything to him. His leg is pressed up against Athelstan's thigh, the heat of his body seeming to bleed through Athelstan's pants. "I might have been intrigued."

For a moment, Athelstan wonders if that's what this was about - if Ragnar gets off on the blasphemy of it. He wonders if he minds. "Are you glad I called?"

"Oh yes," Ragnar says, giving him another one of the Lothbrok once-overs he's grown used to already. "Lagertha was getting annoyed with me. I couldn't stop talking about you."

Athelstan stares at him. "I-"

"You shouldn't try to seduce your coworkers before they're even your coworkers," Helga sniffs. "Now get out of here, you're a distraction."

"Me?" Ragnar puts his hand to his chest like he's been wounded, but he's a bad study at playing innocent, since the wicked grin is still plastered across his lips. "Mean, Helga."

"I'm only saying things that are true. Out."

Instead, Ragnar leans into Athelstan's space. Athelstan's lips part in surprise, and once again Ragnar swoops in and steals a kiss. Athelstan can't help the way he responds, eyes slipping closed and body arching. It feels like Ragnar is pulling all the air from his lungs. When Ragnar pulls away and saunters out, throwing a little wave over his shoulder, Athelstan gasps raggedly, staring in his wake.

"Shameless," Helga says, clicking her tongue. "I don't know how Lagertha keeps him in line."

"By being terrifying?" Athelstan asks, turning back around in the makeup chair.

Helga laughs. "Lagertha must have a soft spot for you - she hardly ever lets the new ones shoot as soon as they're hired. Ragnar must be bothering her. He pines." Athelstan ducks his head to hide the ridiculous smile that spreads over his face at that, and Helga promptly grabs his chin in firm fingers and makes him look back up at her. "Stop that and hold still."

He does, not moving an inch as she does her work. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as she mutters about people who have beautiful skin and perfect eyelashes and blush so pretty she can't even use foundation. "Especially if Lagertha is planning to market that, which I'll bet she is," Helga adds absently as she puts a thin line of eyeliner on his waterline. "At least I don't have to work very hard to make you camera presentable."

Athelstan can't answer without getting poked in the eye, so he doesn't.

When Helga is done with him, she hooks her arm around his elbow and drags him off to the set. Lagertha, Ragnar, and the crew are already there waiting for him, and there's a moment after Helga shoves him through the door with a cheerful, "Have fun!" that he just stands there. It all seems to hit him at once, now that he can see the lights and the microphones and the camera equipment.

"Athelstan?" Lagertha has that pinch of concern between her eyebrows. She comes over to put her hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. "We can reschedule the shoot, if you're still not sure."

"No, it's fine. I'm sorry, I'm just..." Athelstan trails off, catching a glimpse of Ragnar sprawled out on the couch, one foot planted on the floor and the other thrown across the cushions. His mouth goes dry. "Nervous," he finishes, clearing his throat when it comes out more like a squeak.

Lagertha looks over her shoulder, following his gaze to Ragnar. She huffs and steers Athelstan to the couch by the grip on his shoulders. He goes, not daring to argue with her, and besides that transfixed by the way Ragnar watches him.

"Move." Lagertha kicks Ragnar's foot off the couch. "Be nice."

"I'm always nice," Ragnar says. He let her move him as she wishes, his arm still slung over the back of the couch.

"Sit." Lagertha pushes down on Athelstan's shoulders, and he sits - Ragnar reels him in closer, until Athelstan is tucked under his arm, pressed against Ragnar's side. It should make him even more nervous, but instead it makes him feel sheltered against the mechanical eye of the camera and the hot lights. He can barely make out Lagertha's outline when she steps back behind the cameras. "Athelstan - try to pretend the camera isn't in the room. Talk to Ragnar and me - we'll ask you a few questions, and when Ragnar gets impatient enough to start pawing at you, we'll see where it goes from there."

Athelstan looks up at Ragnar's face in time to catch that mock-wounded look again. Ragnar's eyes cut down to him and a lazy smirk spreads across his lips. "I'll be patient," he says.

"Rolling in three, two, look at me-" Athelstan tears his eyes away from Ragnar to lock eyes with Lagertha, taking in the calm blue of them, barely visible through the glare of the lights. "Rolling." A red light comes on out of the corner of Athelstan's eye, but he can't cut his eyes away to look. "That's it, eyes on me, and-" here she allows a brief pause, lets the camera roll in silence for a moment, and then speaks again. "Athelstan. I'd like to extend a personal welcome to Lost Brook Studios. We're so glad you could join us on set."

There's nothing lascivious in her tone, and Ragnar doesn't move his hands, keeps his arm around Athelstan's shoulders. It makes him relax - makes him feel for a surreal moment like this is any other interview. "Glad to be here," he says, breaking into a small, helplessly grateful smile.

"Ragnar here hasn't been able to keep quiet about you since the two of you met," Lagertha says, amusement now coloring her voice. "At a bar, wasn't it?"

Athelstan nods, his curls falling into his eyes, automatically raking his fingers through his hair to brush it out of his face. "I was drowning my sorrows in margaritas."

"What had you so down?"

The question surprises Athelstan - he didn't think Lagertha would want his background on camera. Ragnar's hand falls to his neck, thumb rubbing up and down the tense line of it. "Just what you told me," he says lowly, nearly breathing it into Athelstan's ear.

"I um," Athelstan's tongue darts out to wet his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. "I got kicked out of seminary."

He feels Ragnar's grin against the skin of his neck, and then Ragnar pulls away far enough to speak to Lagertha. "He was learning to be a priest," he says, sounding unbearably pleased with himself.

"Ragnar corrupted you, I see," Lagertha says, her amusement more marked this time.

Athelstan feels his cheeks heat - everyone's eyes are on him, and he fidgets, trying to keep his gaze glued to Lagertha's like he's been told. Ragnar's fingers tighten over his collarbone, and suddenly Athelstan feels more anchored. The nervousness still fizzes under his skin, but it's easier to pretend there's nobody else behind those hot lights. "Not nearly enough," he says, surprised at his own boldness.

Ragnar _laughs_ \- throws his head back and everything, his body shaking with it, and Athelstan ducks his head again, smiling with shy pride that he was able to make Ragnar laugh like that. He still doesn't seem quite real, like Athelstan is still looking at him from the other side of the camera, even as he's pressed all along Ragnar's side.

At least, until both of Ragnar's hands reach out lightning-quick, fingers closing around Athelstan's nipples through the thin cotton of his shirt. He pinches, not hard enough to really hurt but enough to make Athelstan flinch and gasp, his mouth falling open on it. It feels electric, jolting all through him, the pleasure knifing along his ribs and down between his legs. His head jerks up to catch Lagertha's eyes almost guiltily, like he's the one messing up the interview.

He can barely see the indulgent smile on her lips behind the lights. "Ragnar," she says, scolding. "Don't tease, you'll get to have your way with him soon enough."

"How am I supposed to resist when he reacts so well to my hands on him?" Ragnar lounges back against the arm of the couch, pulling Athelstan back against his chest again. "Besides, he liked it."

Athelstan can't control what his expression is doing - his lips pull into a self-deprecating little smile, his shoulders hunch in a shrug, and his palm rubs over one of his tender nipples. It felt better than he imagined it might, the little jolt of pain added to the pleasure of Ragnar's touch.

"Is that right?" Lagertha says, and Athelstan can almost imagine her arched eyebrow. "I suppose I should just let you take control of the shoot if you know so much better."

Athelstan sneaks a glance at Ragnar and sees him grinning, completely unrepentant. He'd be terrified to goad Lagertha like this, but Ragnar seems not to mind her wrath. "If you expect me to keep my hands to myself, you shouldn't have told me I could have him later."

That sends a shiver through Athelstan, one that's big enough to draw Ragnar's eyes to him again. Athelstan isn't sure he'll ever get used to the feeling of that gaze turned to him full force, piercing blue and ravenous.

Lagertha doesn't dignify that with an answer. "Athelstan." Her voice captures his attention again, pulling his eyes away from Ragnar's to her shadowed face. "This is your first time on camera, isn't it?"

Athelstan is nervous all over again. This is what she's marketing, so he doesn't fight the way his fingers fidget and he sucks his lip in between his teeth. Ragnar's hands slide down his sides to rest on his hips, a soft swear falling from his lips.

"Yes," Althelstan tries to offer a shy smile as he says it. "I feel lucky to be here, for my first time."

He may be shy, but he's not innocent - he knows how those words are going to effect Ragnar, and sure enough, the man groans aloud, tightening his fingers on Athelstan's hips. " _Lagertha_. He's killing me."

"He's perfect," Lagertha says, and Athelstan knows he's gone truly red now. "You're dying to kiss him, aren't you?"

As if Athelstan had doubted who held all the power in the room, Ragnar groans again at her words, his hands roaming over Athelstan's shirt now, like he wants it off so badly but is still waiting for his wife's word before he gives into the temptation.

"Athelstan, are you ready?"

The question shouldn't catch him by surprise, not when Lagertha has been so sure to ask him and check in with him every step of the way, but it does. He makes sure to meet her eyes when he answers. "Yes, please."

Lagertha's grin curls wider, predatory and proud all at once. "Go on then. Impatient."

Ragnar's hand - the one farthest from the camera, almost as if the instinct is ingrained no matter how desperate he is - curls into Athelstan's hair, tilting his head to the side so Ragnar can press their mouths together. The scrape of his beard and the softness of his mouth draw a small noise from Athelstan's throat already. Ragnar groans over it in a way that would have been showy if he wasn't so lost in it, his eyes closed, his mouth falling open to breathe heavily against Athelstan's lips. Athelstan relaxes into his grip, his lips parting for the wet slide of Ragnar's tongue.

"Push him down onto the couch, get on top of him."

The soft direction from Lagertha doesn't startle Athelstan or pull him out of the moment, not when Ragnar moves with it so fluidly it's like he thought of it at the same time. Athelstan's back hits the couch before he truly realizes what's going on, his thighs falling open automatically for Ragnar to slot between them.

There's a noise to his left, a mechanical whirring and the shuffle of footsteps. Athelstan closes his eyes, his palms travelling over the warmth of Ragnar's chest until his fingers can tangle in Ragnar's beard.

"Hands," Lagertha says, almost lazily. 

Ragnar slides his hands up Athelstan's arms, catching both of his slender wrists in one broad palm, and pins them to the couch above his head. It's about line of sight, Athelstan realizes - and the thought brings another hot blush to his cheeks. He keeps forgetting that they're doing this with an audience, that people are going to _watch_ Ragnar take him apart like this.

It's easier than he thought it would be to relax into the grip Ragnar has on his wrists, stretch himself out underneath the man and go boneless in his grasp. Ragnar lips are still sealed over his, a wet, smooth counterpoint to the rough scrape of his beard. He feels short of breath, nearly drowning from the force of Ragnar's mouth.

Lagertha is silent for a long stretch of moments. The sound of them kissing, wet and sloppy and punctuated with short moans and breathy exhales, fills the room. A shadow falls over Athelstan's face, but he keeps his eyes closed, arching his body against Ragnar's. Their lips finally break apart, and Ragnar nudges at Athelstan's chin, lips closing around his jaw. Athelstan tips his head back - his lips are tingling and feel swollen. He keeps them parted because he needs to suck in lungfuls of air, only to have it forced out of him again when Ragnar's teeth close over his skin, scraping bluntly along his windpipe.

Ragnar's hips roll against his, a long drag of heat that makes him pull at the grip on his wrists. He feels overheated, and he's getting hard to the point of discomfort in his jeans. He wants to kick them off, wants to be bare underneath Ragnar, but Ragnar's hold on his wrists is too firm.

"Please," falls from his lips before he knows what he's saying. He's arching into Ragnar's body on top of his, their clothes sliding together. Ragnar sucks at his neck, his collarbone - Athelstan can feel his skin throb under Ragnar's teeth and has no doubt he's being marked. The thought makes his blush flare up full force again, thinking about those marks darkening as the shoot goes on, standing out more livid against his pale skin the longer the camera is rolling.

"Get his shirt off. Yours, too."

Ragnar sits up, hauling Athelstan into his lap. Athelstan's knees land on the couch on either side of Ragnar's thighs, and the motion of Ragnar's hips doesn't stop. The defined muscles under the cloth of his jeans swell as he grinds into Athelstan. He releases Athelstan's wrists, and Athelstan claws at the back of his shirt, only barely remembering to keep his arms positioned so he doesn't block their faces.

Ragnar laughs, helping Athelstan catch the hem of his shirt and yank it off. Athelstan swallows hard, his palms pressed flat to the defined magnificence of Ragnar's chest. Hair prickles under his palms as he slides them over the paleness of Ragnar's skin, his lip caught between his teeth.

"You too," Ragnar says, voice teasing. He eases the front of Athelstan's shirt up and over his head, yanking it down to Athelstan's elbows - but no further, once again trapping his hands. "Let's see how sensitive these really are, hmm?"

One of his broad hands spreads across Athelstan's back, supporting him as Ragnar lowers his mouth to Athelstan's chest. It's sloppy, his teeth scraping over the skin and his lips leaving wet trails of saliva. Athelstan gasps when Ragnar's hot mouth closes over his nipple, squirming against the makeshift bonds of his T-shirt. He's not sure whether to press closer to Ragnar's mouth or shift away, especially when Ragnar _bites_ , teeth pulling at the sensitive bud until it hardens. When Ragnar's tongue laves firmly against the soreness his teeth left, Athelstan throws his head back on an open-mouthed moan, thrusting his hips into Ragnar's lap this time.

Ragnar switches to the other nipple, using his free hand to roll the one he released between his fingers, keeping Athelstan writhing in his lap. He feels like he can't get enough air, gasping out helpless sounds as Ragnar works him over. He's so hard he can't stand it, his cock pressing against the metal of his zipper even through his boxers.

"Ragnar!" Athelstan cries out, his back bowing, when Ragnar's teeth close on his other nipple - harder than before, sending jolts of sensation down his chest. "Ah, _please_."

"You keep saying that, but you don't ask for anything specific." Ragnar lifts his mouth away from Athelstan's chest, still bracing him with the hand on his back, and rubs the heel of his palm over both of Athelstan's sore nipples.

"I want-" Athelstan goes bright red again. He wants _Ragnar_ , wants to do whatever Ragnar tells him and go where Ragnar puts him. He's perfectly happy to let Ragnar lead this scene. His eyes drop to the bulge of Ragnar's pants and he can't help but suck his lip into his mouth, hoping that'll be enough of a clue.

A slow, dirty grin comes over Ragnar's face. "You want my cock in your mouth?" he asks, the light in his eyes at once covetous and kind, like he knows it's too much for Athelstan to say aloud but he wants it too much not to let it happen.

"Good idea," Lagertha says, sounding pleased with him. Athelstan flushes as much at her praise as at Ragnar's words. "Leave his shirt where it is, though - I think he likes it there."

"Up here, or on the floor?" Ragnar asks, and Athelstan isn't sure he's going to be able to get over the casual way Ragnar talks about these things, like it's only a matter of logistics.

"Stay on the couch - the camera's focused for that shot."

Ragnar slides out from between Athelstan's legs, the hand behind his back moving around to curl around the back of Athelstan's neck instead. It makes Athelstan's eyes flutter, a curl of heat pooling in his belly as Ragnar rises to his knees and Athelstan sinks down into the cushions, putting his face at the level of Ragnar's crotch. He keeps Athelstan steady with that firm grip and pops the button on his jeans one-handed, dragging the zipper down.

He draws his cock from the fly of his jeans, and Athelstan's mouth waters. He's seen it before, in the videos he watched before he decided to call about the interview, but seeing it in person is something else. Ragnar is thick and uncut, and Athelstan wants to know what it's going to feel like in his mouth. It's been a long time since he's done this, but he trusts Ragnar to go easy on him, make it showy for the camera without choking him.

"Open your mouth." Ragnar's voice is rough and ragged, and Athelstan looks up through his lashes as he lets his mouth fall open, ready and waiting for Ragnar to do as he pleases. "Fuck, just like that."

It's slow, and Ragnar drags it out for the visuals. He pulls the foreskin back with the hand not still wrapped around the back of Athelstan's neck and lays the head of his cock on Athelstan's tongue, hips rocking minutely, just enough to spread the taste around inside his mouth. Athelstan can't help his eyes sliding closed at the sensation, can't hold back the whine that escapes him. He pulls at the shirt binding his arms together and Ragnar's grip tightens on his neck.

"Shh, be patient, I know you want it." Ragnar's crooning should be embarrassing, but instead it just makes Athelstan feel warm and flushed all over. He keeps his eyes closed and his mouth open and is rewarded by deeper circles of Ragnar's hips. Ragnar's cock slides back and forth over his tongue, tasting like musk and salt. Athelstan doesn't close his lips and suck, not yet - he hasn't been told to, and he's sure Ragnar debauching him on camera is exactly what Lagertha wants. There's a steady warmth in his chest at the idea of pleasing them - both of them - that only grows stronger when Ragnar groans above him. "God, Athelstan, you look like _sin_ down there." Athelstan makes a small noise that might be protest, and Ragnar's hand flexes around his nape again. "Close your mouth around it and suck."

He does as he's directed, sealing his lips over the hard flesh and hollowing his cheeks. He keeps his eyes closed, stays pliant in Ragnar's grasp, perfectly content to let the motion of Ragnar's hips push his cock deeper into Athelstan's mouth with every stroke. He was right - Ragnar doesn't push in far enough to make him choke. He unwraps his free hand from the base of his cock and pushes, more of the length sliding between Athelstan's lips until the head bumps against the back of his throat.

Athelstan starts to gag and swallows hard, can't quite help squirming in Ragnar's grasp, and Ragnar pulls back immediately, his cock sliding free. Athelstan's eyes open again, fixed dazedly up on Ragnar's face, only a little startled to find the camera and the microphone both right _there_ in his peripheral. He stays put, letting Ragnar thrust his hips and nudge his cock clumsily against Athelstan's lips and cheeks, leaving smears of saliva all over him. "You're just going to sit there and take it whichever way I give it to you huh?" Ragnar asks, his voice throaty and almost disbelieving. "You _love_ this. Fuck, you were _made_ for this, you and your perfect mouth. Open up wider." 

"Stick out your tongue," comes Lagertha's direction from off camera, and Athelstan does, his mouth open so wide his jaw aches, tongue laid out over his lower lip, drool pooling at the corners and spilling over down his chin.

That's all it takes to have Ragnar swearing and pushing back into his mouth. His rhythm is faster this time, but still shallow, rocking only half his cock in and out of Athelstan's mouth. It's still so easy for Athelstan to lose himself in it, especially with his hands restricted behind his back, still tangled up in his T-shirt. The ache in his jaw, the hot weight of Ragnar on his tongue, the _taste_ \- his eyes close again and he moans.

"Don't come in his mouth, I still have plans for your cock." Lagertha sounds amused - Ragnar sounds anything but. He swears at her, but he slows down the motion of his hips until finally he pulls free of Athelstan's mouth with a wet pop. Athelstan licks his lips and opens his eyes again, risking a sideways look at Lagertha. She's in front of the lights now, and he can make out the look on her face. She looks pleased with him, in a way that has almost a proprietary edge - like someone would look at a particularly good investment. It makes Athelstan's face hot again.

"Well, don't just stare, tell me what you want me to do with him." Ragnar's voice is tight, and from the way his cock jumps just inches from Athelstan's face, he seems eager to move on to whatever Lagertha has planned next.

"Get the rest of his clothes off. The shirt too. I want him in your lap, facing the camera." She gives Athelstan a wicked smirk. "You're going to ride him."

Athelstan makes a noise, one Ragnar punctuates with another blasphemous curse. Ragnar sits back on his heels, putting his face back at Athelstan's level, and suddenly his tongue is in Athelstan's mouth again and his hands are pulling Athelstan's shirt the rest of the way off. Athelstan can't not touch, his fingers digging into the breadth of Ragnar's shoulders, pitching forward to press his open, panting mouth against Ragnar's collarbone.

"Come on," Ragnar says, standing slowly so the camera has enough time to back away from them, pulling Athelstan to his feet. Athelstan lets himself be moved until he's backed up against Ragnar's chest. Ragnar pulls at his own jeans first, and Athelstan tips his head back against Ragnar's chest at the sensation of Ragnar rubbing his cock all over Athelstan's clothed ass.

Ragnar's hands are all over him, sliding down over his pale chest to the bony curve of his hips, one hand splaying over his stomach, the edges of Ragnar's fingers dipping below the waistband of his jeans. "Ragnar," Athelstan breathes, and Ragnar laughs into his ear. It would have made Athelstan weak enough in the knees without Ragnar palming Athelstan's cock, the heat of his hand scorching through the denim. " _Ragnar_."

"Beg me," Ragnar rasps in his ear, and Athelstan feels like the breath is going to be wrung from him every time he hears a command in that soft, lilting voice.

" _Please_ , Ragnar. I want you - I want you to touch me and I want you in me and I want-"

" _Christ_." Ragnar says it right in Athelstan's ear, and Athelstan jerks and catches his lip between his teeth, torn between scolding him for the blasphemy and reveling in the hot rush of illicit thrill it sends chasing down his spine. Ragnar has his jeans undone in seconds and is shoving them over his hips.

This is it, Athelstan thinks suddenly. Not that being naked on camera is any more debauched than sucking Ragnar's cock on camera, but it feels like it, and Athelstan has to resist the urge to cover himself. He finds himself wishing that Lagertha had let Ragnar leave his arms bound - but only for a second. As soon as Ragnar gets Athelstan's pants down over his thighs, he wraps both arms around Athelstan's chest and backs them up until he hits the couch again. He lowers the two of them down slowly, lifting Athelstan into his lap and helping him arrange his legs until Athelstan's back is pressed up along his front in a long, hot, muscular line. Ragnar's cock nudges into the crack of Athelstan's ass, the blunt head skating over his hole and sending a shock of anticipation through him. He's gasping again, his head tilted back against Ragnar's shoulder, once again baring his throat to Ragnar's teeth.

"Lube on the back of the couch," Lagertha says, and Athelstan will never not be grateful for her steady voice and calm directions. Ragnar is overwhelming, and Athelstan feels like he's surrounded by the force of the man's passion, swept up and along for the ride. Ragnar reaches up and gropes along the back of the couch even as Athelstan squirms in his lap, his hands clutching at Ragnar's forearm, still wrapped firmly around his chest.

"Long and slow. I want it nice and wet and easy."

How she can _say_ things like that in a normal voice, like she's telling her employees to go refill the water cooler instead of giving Ragnar directions on how to finger Athelstan open for his cock. Ragnar fumbles the cap off the lube and moves his hand between Athelstan's legs, tossing Athelstan's knee over the arm of the couch to spread him open wider. He squirts a dollop of it directly onto Athelstan, right behind his balls, and Athelstan makes a surprised sound at how cold it is. Ragnar slides his fingers through the slick mess, down to Athelstan's hole, rubbing the pads of them back and forth lightly until Athelstan is gasping again, rocking back against the pressure and right on the edge of pleading.

Ragnar nudges the tips of two fingers into Athelstan at once, agonizingly slow and obscenely wet. Athelstan's breath leaves him in a long sigh and he goes boneless in Ragnar's hold, one hand still clutching at his arm and the other digging into the meat of Ragnar's thigh. Ragnar pushes harder, sinking his fingers in deeper, then withdraws and fucks them in again.

"Oh God." It falls from Athelstan's mouth before he can stop it, and he opens his eyes to look down. He's flushed from his collarbone down to his nipples, still hard and slightly pinked from Ragnar's teasing earlier. He can see the corded strength of Ragnar's arm as he flexes his fingers, working them in and out of Athelstan, pushing more lube inside him with every thrust. He can't help himself - he pushes back into it, forcing Ragnar's fingers deeper. He wants Ragnar inside him now, the urgency in his cock building with every slick slide of Ragnar's fingers in him.

Ragnar is fucking him on three fingers before Athelstan starts begging again, his face turned into the crook of Ragnar's neck and his hips rolling back onto Ragnar's hand. "Shh, I've got you - you want it so bad, and I swear I'm gonna give it to you. Just got to get you nice and ready first."

"I am, I am - Ragnar, Lagertha, _please_."

"He begs so pretty," Lagertha murmurs. "I'm going to have you tie him up sometime and fuck him so slow you'll both be begging me before the scene is over."

" _Lagertha_." It's Ragnar's turn to sound pained, and Athelstan doesn't think he imagines the fondness in Lagertha's voice when she gives him the okay, tells Athelstan to sit down on Ragnar's cock and let it fill him up.

He doesn't hesitate, lifting himself up on shaky knees until Ragnar slides his fingers free and strokes another palmful of slick lube down his cock. His hands close around Athelstan's hips, holding him firm and steady as the head of Ragnar's cock bumps against him again. This time, Athelstan flexes his thighs and lets himself sink down, the pressure against his hole making him shudder and pant until the tip of Ragnar's cock sinks into him and forces a low moan out of his chest.

"Athelstan - fuck, you're gorgeous. There we go, just like that-" Ragnar helps him rise up and sink down again, the strong grip on his hips guiding him to take more of Ragnar's cock. It's slow and patient again, even though Athelstan wants more. He goes pliant, sinks down onto Ragnar until his balls press up against the juncture of Athelstan's thighs, until he's trembling with the sensation of Ragnar _in_ him, filling him up until he feels like he'll burst with it.

Ragnar's hips surge, changing the angle of penetration. Athelstan's eyes fly wide and his mouth drops open on another long moan, helpless and spread wide. Rangar shifts his hand to Athelstan's thigh, supporting him where his legs are stretched open, one knee still crooked over the arm of the couch. His other hand moves back to Athelstan's nipples, twisting and rubbing, and that's more than enough to have Athelstan saying _please_ again, though he's not even sure what he's begging for at this point.

He hasn't touched his cock, his fingers still locked on Ragnar. His thighs do all the work now, rising up slowly and sinking back down on the thick length inside him. Ragnar bucks to meet him occasionally, and every time he does the head of his cock punches into the electric bundle of nerves in Athelstan's ass, wringing noises from him that sound even more like pleading than his words.

"We're going to teach you to get off untouched," Ragnar says in his ear, and Athelstan moans. "You look so fucking good like this - I'm going to fuck you until you come all over yourself and then I'm going to make you clean it off my hands."

"Please," Athelstan gasps, because he wants that _now_. He wants to see Ragnar's hand around his cock, wants to feel the taste of him pushed into his mouth along with Ragnar's fingers, wants to show him how _good_ he can be, how much he can earn his place here, safe with Ragnar and Lagertha and their affectionate smiles and warm amusement.

"Athelstan," Ragnar groans. He looks up, and Athelstan knows he's looking at Lagertha, waiting for permission or for her to make a different call.

Lagertha must nod, because Ragnar's hand moves from Athelstan's nipples down to his cock. He lets Athelstan move into it, fucking himself back on Ragnar's cock and forward into his grip. Athelstan's hands scrabble at the couch, nails digging into the plush fabric, his back arching. He feels like he can't get enough air, like Ragnar is punching it out of him with every thrust and every touch. 

His thighs are trembling, he notices distantly. There's urgency building in his gut, and now he moves erratically in Ragnar's hold. Ragnar swears at him, soft and admiring and right in his ear, and bites at Athelstan's neck. Athelstan cries out, high and surprised. His balls tighten, his cock pulses, and then he's coming on Ragnar's hand, shooting onto his own stomach, feeling the tingle of his orgasm spread from his cock all the way out to the tips of his fingers.

Ragnar grinds into him, his nails digging into Athelstan's thigh. He releases Athelstan's soft cock and Athelstan drops his mouth open automatically when he feels Ragnar's fingers against his lips. "Oh, yes," Ragnar breathes, pushes his fingers into Athelstan's mouth, feeds him his own come even as he keeps pumping his cock deep into Athelstan's body. Athelstan is shaking now, trying desperately to hold on when everything is too much, too sensitive. Ragnar swipes his fingers through the mess on Athelstan's chest and puts them back to his lips again, and Athelstan laps eagerly at them even as he's whining at the sensation of Ragnar's cock still driving into him, pummeling the sensitive place inside him until his whines get higher-pitched, pathetic, and he feels like he's on the edge of begging again.

He manages to whine out Ragnar's name, squirming on his cock, and that seems to be what pushes him over the edge. Ragnar's arms wrap around him, crushing Athelstan back against his chest, and buries his face in the crook of Athelstan's neck as he comes. Athelstan feels it, warm and spreading inside him, and he's blushing all over again.

He doesn't think it's possible to go more red until Lagertha says, "Ease out of him nice and slow. I want the camera to catch how good you fucked him."

Ragnar reaches down and cups Athelstan's soft, sensitive cock, ignoring Athelstan's soft grunt and drawing it and his balls up out of the way as he slowly, gently lifts Athelstan off his softening shaft. As Ragnar slips out, his come drips from Athelstan's hole, sliding down over the cheeks of his ass. Ragnar keeps him spread open wide and Athelstan closes his eyes, holding still but for the tremors in his muscles until Lagertha says, "Good. Very good. Wrap that up - I'll look over the raw footage tomorrow morning from both angles, and then we'll start looking at cutting it together."

There's a gentle hand against Athelstan's cheek, and he opens his eyes, feeling wrung out and limp in Ragnar's hold. It's not Ragnar's hand, but Lagertha's, her slender fingers soft against his face. "Are you alright?"

He smiles at her, and by the amusedly tolerant look on her face, it's probably as goofy and blissed-out as he feels. "Thank you," he says, and then turns his head nudging Ragnar with his nose.

Ragnar takes the hint, even if the angle is awkward. They kiss sloppily, Ragnar's tongue licking the last taste of his own come from his mouth. "Do you want to stay here for a little while?" He asks. "The crew won't mind if we lie down while they pack up."

That sounds _amazing_ , and Athelstan nods. He lets Ragnar pick him up and rearrange them, until he's lying with his head on Ragnar's chest and Ragnar's arms wrapped securely around him. He still feels slick and sticky between his thighs, but he finds he can't mind that so much, not when he also feels so taken care of.

"Thank you," he repeats.

Ragnar clicks his tongue, and there are fingers under Athelstan's chin, lifting it until Ragnar can look him in the eye. "You're beautiful, and you're stunning on camera, and you're going to make my wife a mint. And I get to fuck your gorgeous mouth and your pretty little ass while she does it. Thank _you_."

Athelstan is sure he's blushing again. He knows it's probably silly to ask, but he can't help but feel a tiny knot of insecurity forming in his throat. "So, my screen test was okay?" He directs the question at Lagertha, but Ragnar's chest moves abruptly in a huffed laugh, and she's shaking her head with a smile.

"We're going to keep you as long as you let us," Lagertha says. To Ragnar, she adds, "Once he feels like moving again, get him cleaned up. You're off set for the rest of the day. I want you to take him home and put him to bed."

Athelstan stares at her, utterly speechless. A job, he expected - maybe not a job like _this_ , but still. He did something for her, he got paid. Now she's inviting him into her home, telling Ragnar to take care of him, saying she's going to keep him. That warm feeling in his chest spreads out to the rest of his body, and he has to drop his head back down to Ragnar's chest and close his eyes to keep from looking too emotional. Ragnar's fingers drag lazily through his hair, nails scraping over his scalp, and he goes boneless all over again, wrapping himself up in the warmth until he feels himself slipping into a doze.

"Sleep well, priest. I'm sure Lagertha will have plenty of filthy ideas for you when you wake up. Next time you go to your confessional, you'll be on your knees for hours."

Athelstan smiles against Ragnar's skin. He's not going back to confessional, and he's pretty sure the only time he'll be on his knees for hours is for Ragnar.

It doesn't sound so bad. His eyes slip closed and he falls into sleep, feeling sheltered and safe with the beat of Ragnar's heart under his ear.


End file.
